Beloved

ankle. Furiously she struggled to escape, kicking out, but she quickly found herself surrounded by Roman legionnaires, and weighed down by her heavy, wet cloak she was powerless. They hauled her none too gently back toward the shore, and when it was possible to stand again they closed in about her, their hands moving roughly over her body in a 'search' for weapons; but their real intent was quite clear. The sodden cloak was pulled away and her short tunic was torn from her; she was weaponless, powerless. One of the men shoved her backward onto the sandy beach, loosening his own clothing. In that terrible and short moment Zenobia remembered her mother. I will not beg, she thought. I will not beg!

'Halt, you men!' The centurion of the unit came hurrying forward, and taking off his long red cloak put it around Zenobia, who had quickly struggled to her feet. 'I offer my apologies, Majesty,' he said quietly, and then swung around to the men who had captured Zenobia. 'This woman is the Queen of Palmyra, and a great warrior. She is entitled to the same respect as any male adversary of equal rank. She is not to be touched by any of you. Those are the emperor's orders. Do you understand?'

Grumbling, the soldiers nodded, and the centurion spoke again to Zenobia. 'I am Gaius Cicero, Majesty, personal aide to the Emperor Aurelian. You are now a prisoner of the state.'

She wrapped the cloak tightly around her and lifted her head proudly. She would not beg! 'Where are my men?' she demanded in a voice that required a reply.

'I regret, Majesty, that it was necessary to kill them. They were all valiant fighters.'

'I want to bury them,' she said tonelessly. 'I will not leave them to be picked clean by the vultures and the jackals. They were brave men, and deserve that courtesy.'

'We cannot take the time, Majesty.'

'You cannot begin your return immediately, Gaius Cicero. You, too, have been traveling all night, and need to rest your mounts. This place is far more hospitable than the desert, which we must cross again. Ask your men to bring me the bodies of my people and give me a digging tool. I will bury them myself.'

'You cannot…' he began.

'/ can!” she replied fiercely, and he saw that she was not a woman to be dissuaded.

She was correct. They needed to rest after the three-day pursuit, and the fertile river bank was most pleasant. 'Lucillus,' he called to one of his men. 'Bring the bodies of the slain tribesmen here for burial; and send several men to that nearby village to buy food.'

'Thank you,' Zenobia said.

'I will have my men help you,' he said.

'No! Those who protected me are my responsibility, Gaius Cicero. It is my duty as Queen of Palmyra to help them to their final resting place. Never have I shirked my duty. I will not do so now.'

He understood, and he admired her for such strength of character. Now more than ever he understood Marcus Alexander's great love for this woman. He didn't think that this was a particularly good moment to deliver her a message from him, and so he simply found a spade among their equipment, and gave it to her. Wordlessly Zenobia began digging, heedless of the long cloak that opened with her efforts, displaying her nudity to all. Desperately Gaius Cicero looked for the queen's tunic, but upon finding it saw that it was ripped beyond repair. There had to be an extra one among his hundred legionnaires that would fit her. He set off to find it, posting a guard near the queen, forbidding all others to come near her.

Methodically Zenobia dug one grave after another in the soft earth. She was tired but worked on, despite the blisters now swelling up on her hands. At first the legionnaires watching from a distance had been scornful and even amused by her efforts, but now as she completed the fifth grave their admiration was open.

The last grave was dug, and Zenobia stood over the bodies of her slain companions. Suddenly she looked up, and her gaze was fierce. 'Who among you robbed these men?' she demanded furiously. 'Come forth now, and return them their property. They will have little enough to take with them into the Underworld.'

After a moment the shamefaced culprits came slowly forward and, checking the bodies themselves, returned what they had taken from the dead.

Again Zenobia spoke. 'Tell Gaius Cicero I want six coppers. Charon will not ferry them across the Styx without payment.'

A legionnaire detached himself from the crowd and ran to find Gaius Cicero. Returning a few moments later, he bowed politely to Zenobia and gave her the coins. Taking them, she placed one between the teeth of each corpse. Suddenly a legionnaire was at her side.

'I would consider it a privilege if you would let me help you to lower the bodies into their graves, and cover them, Majesty,' he said.

Their eyes met, and she was touched to see in his honest sympathy, not for her plight but for the sorrow he knew she must be feeling over her fallen comrades. She graciously accepted his help.

At last the task was done and Zenobia stood just a moment, offering her silent prayers to the gods for Rufus Curius, and the Bedawi who had fallen in her defense. Suddenly Gaius Cicero was at her side, gently taking her arm and drawing her away to a secluded spot. Without speaking he handed her a linen tunic, turning his back as she removed his long cloak and put it on.

'I lost my sandals in the river,' she said quietly.

'I will see if I can find you a pair,' he promised. 'Are you hungry?'

She shook her head in the negative. 'No, just very tired, Gaius Cicero. I am suddenly very tired.'

'We will camp here until nightfall, Majesty. You may sleep in safety. No harm will come to you while you are in my charge.'

'Where do you want me?' she asked him tonelessly.

'Here would be satisfactory,' he replied, 'but before you rest I would speak to you. I bear a message to you from an old friend in Rome.'

'I have no friends in Rome,' she answered.

'I speak of Marcus Alexander Britainus,' Gaius Cicero said.

'Don't!' was her sharp reply. 'I do not want to hear even the mention of his name, Centurion.'

'He did not betray you, Majesty.'

Zenobia looked directly at Gaius Cicero. 'Romans always betray those who trust them. I am your prisoner, but I do not believe I must listen to the pretty lies you have been told to tell me. I will never forgive Marcus. Never! Now speak no more to me of it.'

Her voice had been strong and even, but he could hear a ragged edge to it, and he saw in her eyes the most terrible pain. She was close to tears, which she valiantly fought back, and ashamed, he lowered his own gaze. 'It will be as you wish, Majesty,' he said. Then he left her to rest.

Zenobia pulled the long red cloak about her and lay down upon the ground, curling herself into a ball. Her mind began to sort out all that had happened. She had failed in her attempt to escape the Romans, and gain help from the Persians. She had been so close to succeeding.

Through hooded lids she looked to the river bank, weighing the possibility of escape. The fisherman was long gone, and the river was broad here, but possibly she could swim it. If not, then at least the Romans would not have a hostage to hold over Vaba and the city. To her vast annoyance, however, Gaius Cicero had placed pickets at intervals of three feet for one hundred and fifty feet along the river bank. She smothered a particularly ripe curse and, unable to think of another way, sighed and put her mind to falling asleep.

When she awoke the sky above her was streaked in gold and peach and lavender; the narrow ruffled clouds were pale pink edged in dark purple. She could hear the soft sounds of the river as it lapped against the shore, and for a brief minute she experienced a feeling of incredible peace. Then reality quickly surfaced, and she remembered all that had passed. There was a faint breeze, and upon that breeze wafted the scent of lamb. Her stomach rumbled appreciatively, and with a small smile of amusement at herself she realized that she was hungry. Except for some figs and dates, she had not, after all, eaten in several days.

Slowly standing up, she stretched, spreading her arms wide and tensing her muscles for a moment, then relaxing again. Shaking the sand from the long cloak, she set off down the beach seeking the cook fire. She did not have to go far. She regally accepted a tin plate with two smoking-hot portions of lamb kabob from the legionnaire who was designated cook. The chunks of lamb had been skewered on peeled sticks and interspersed with small